“What is that?” she says, yawning.
EJ gives her a challenging smile. “I’m bored.”
Those words are always trouble. They’ve been the instigator to too many nights out in New Orleans, and even in Charleston, when boredom drove Charlie into EJ’s world in the first place.
And it’s the quiet challenged Charlie can’t refuse.
“What are you thinking?” she asks, grinning as she stands up and begins digging through her suitcase.
*
They end up at a bar downtown. It’s full and loud and Charlie can feel herself relaxing as they’re pulled into the madness. A table full of frat boys watch them, a little too interested to be ignored. She smirks, and EJ grabs her by the arm, pulling her away from them and toward a tiny table with three high stools.
She’s wearing a dress, a tiny thing that buttons up the front and stops just below her ass. It’s tight, with a high neckline and almost no back, and a blue so deep it’s almost black, paired with red fuck-me heels that give her another four inches of height.
EJ is in black leather, a pair of pants and a matching corset that pushes up her tits and curves in her waist and leaves her shoulders and neck bare. When she emerged from the bathroom in that and bright red lipstick, Charlie almost said fuck it, and stayed in.
But EJ was bored, and she wanted to go out, and even if Charlie did want her, she wasn’t going to break first. She never had and tonight wouldn’t be the night she started.
“Want to play a game?” EJ asks, a mischievous smirk lighting her eyes.
Charlie eyes her. “What kind of game?”
A waitress in a tiny pair of shorts, spiked heels and a shirt so small it should be called a bra comes by and EJ orders a bottle of vodka. When she hurries away, EJ refocuses on Charlie.
“Random boy. Any random boy.”
“And what am I doing with this random?” She asks, arching an eyebrow.
EJ shrugs, “Whatever you want. But the catch is, I get to pick the random boy you take home. And you pick mine.”
Charlie stares at her, as the waitress puts a bottle of Gray Goose between them and a small bottle of cranberry juice in a crystal decanter.
That EJ would never pick the kind of boy Charlie would is a given.
But the idea of allowing EJ to control this—it’s intriguing. She can’t help but nod her agreement and flash a smile. “Fine.”
EJ smirks and twists on her stool. The table of frat boys are still watching them, and Charlie thinks for a moment that she’ll point at them.
“See the one at the bar. Dark hair, black suit, blue tie?” EJ says, and Charlie finds him. Pale, and tall and handsome.
“Him?”
“Him,” she says, a private amusement in her voice.
Charlie leans forward, and pours a shot of vodka, tossing it back before sliding off her stool.
"Where are you going?" EJ asks, amused.
"To find your boy."
Being in a bar again feels familiar, and comforting because of that familiarity. She can feel the eyes following her as she winds her way through the bar, feel the interest and the speculation and the desire. They never try to keep that to themselves. For a heartbeat, she wishes she hadn't left EJ at their table--that she was flanked by her best friend and writhing on the dance floor, drawing a fucking sea of attention. Not even because she wants to take any of them home. But because she loves the attention, thrives on it the way some thrive on fucking exercise.
There is no drug quite like worship, no high as addictive as adoration.
A blonde catches her eye, one with a redhead standing a few feet away, He's watching her with big worshipful eyes, almost desperate for her attention, and oblivious to the people around him.
He's pathetic and utterly perfect, and she grins. Turns to the table where EJ is still sitting. Even from half a bar away, she can feel EJ's gaze steady and waiting, on her.
Do you want to know what I saw in her?
She shudders, shaking the feeling and the voice, the ghost and nods at the puppy. EJ's expression turns grumpy, and then she's turning away, her mind already on the dark-haired suit at the bar.
*
It takes four shitty martinis to get him out of the bar. Four. She danced and drank and flirted in that stupid subtle way—not the easy southern charm that worked so well on the boys back home or frat boys who seemed disappointed to be ignored by her.
But the cool, dismissive confidence that sent four fucking martinis back to the bar untouched, and kept her shying away from wandering hands on the dance floor, and coldly shut down the two guys who approached her while she sat alone at the bar.
EJ was dancing, a slow, fucking hot-as-hell bump-and-grind with the puppy, his redhead long since forgotten, and she's still playing hard to get.
But after that second frat boy, he caught her at the bar, and pulled her against him. HIs voice low in her ear. "You've been watching me."
She smirks and his hand skimmed low on her hips, over her belly, controlling the move of her body as he fit along her back and she rolled her hips in time with his and the pounding music.
"What took you so long to notice?"
"I noticed hours ago, sweetheart."
The words trip the game into desire, or maybe it's been that all along. Isn't this her favorite game? Twisting them up and getting them to take the pretty bait, even if they never know they've been played?
Once he dances with her, it's over. She's won. It takes a little longer--three songs and a few breathless moans as he presses his dick against her ass--to seal the deal, but then he's pulling her out of the bar and toward a black SUV.
She has one moment to consider how stupid this is before she twists out of his grip.
"I can't just leave," she murmurs and he makes a low, displeased noise. She smirks as he dips down to kiss her, hot and hungry and lacking finesse.
"Why?"
"I came with a friend."
"She's fine."
"Come together, leave together," she whispers and leans up to kiss him again. His lips are hungry, tongue thrusting into her mouth, hands hard on her hips. Behind them, the music from the bar flares over the parking lot. She hears a low male voice and a familiar female laugh.
She straightens, and pushes Miles away from her.
"Charlie," EJ purrs, sauntering across the parking lot toward her, trailed by her puppy. "Your new friend is pretty."
Charlie grins, "He’ll do."
"What is this?" Miles snaps, and EJ's eyes skip toward him, and cool. Charlie can see the animosity brewing between them, and steps in, “My friend. I told you I didn’t come here alone.”
He glances down at her and frowns, and she can almost see the confusion in his pretty blue eyes. She goes up on the tiptoes of her heels and brings his head down, just enough to bring his lips to hers. Coaxing and teasing, everywhere all at once, nipping at his lip and sucking lightly. His eyes are just a little glazed when she pulls away and he nods gruffly. EJ laughs, and slides into the backseat, a long leather bench, and pulls her toy in behind her.
The ride back to the hotel is a special kind of torture. Charlie sits in her seat next to Miles as he drives, and in the backseat, EJ and her new toy are putting on a helluva show. When EJ whimpers—fucking whimpers—Charlie almost turns to watch.
It doesn’t matter how good Miles is in bed—she’s only a few light touches from orgasming, just from listening to the soft noises EJ makes. She can hear the slide of flesh on flesh, and his soft whispers. She’s making these tiny noise that are driving Charlie wild, becoming more and more frantic.
Miles stops the car abruptly, and she blinks, looking out the window to see their hotel.
It takes EJ and her pet a moment to pull themselves together and crawl out of the car. Miles grabs Charlie and hauls her against him, his hand splayed over her ass as he kisses her. A car pulls up behind them, and Charlie looks up as the valet says something to Miles. EJ steps out of the car, her short hair wild,
sex personified and Charlie is, for a heartbeat, irrationally jealous of the idiotic boy who made her look like that.
“Ella.”
She freezes, and Charlie sees fear stutter over her expression as the voice cuts across the drive.
How the hell did Jacobs find them?
“Lews,” EJ almost purrs as she turns to the man approaching her. He’s with another—two nondescript men in jeans, button downs. She vaguely remembers seeing them at the bar, before EJ distracted her with this game. “And Jason. Lovely.”
“Why don’t we take this to your room?” He says simply, flicking a quick look over Charlie and the two men. Miles’ grip on Charlie’s waist tightens, just a little, and she squeaks.
“Don’t,” says the man next to Lews, his gaze sharpening. He shakes his head, a tiny thing. “You don’t want to push. Just do what we say.”
“Does he want me dead?” EJ demands, and the men exchange a quick glance.
“What the actual fuck?” Miles demands quietly and Charlie squeezes his hand.
“Just shut up and do what you’re told,” she murmurs.
He gives her a furious look.
They’re a quiet, odd processional but the hotel is either used to weird sights, or they know better than to ask questions. Either way, they’re left alone as Lews and Jason usher them onto an elevator.
“What floor, lil sis?” Lews asks.
Charlie glances at EJ. It’s the second time she’s been called that by one of Jacobs’ men, and it occurs to her that the endearment is more than that.
It’s a title.
“God, y’all are fucked up,” she mutters and it earns her a dirty looks from EJ and both hired guns.
“Fourteenth,” EJ says, instead of addressing EJ’s assessment.
“I take it the mouse knows who Jacobs is?”
“Does someone want to explain what the fuck is happening here?” Miles demands, and Lews punches him, a hard, almost careless blow to his stomach that has the guy doubled over and gasping. Vaguely, Charlie feels bad, but she doesn’t say anything to protest as Lews takes EJ by the arm and pulls her off the elevator.
“Charlie,” EJ snaps, and it keeps her moving as the other gun grabs Miles by the back of the neck and EJ’s puppy by the arm, pulling them in Lews’ wake.
The hotel room is almost empty—they left most of their stuff in the Nova, and it’s too secluded—panic claws at her for a moment, and then she shoves it down. One moment. That’s what she gets.
Lews shoves EJ into the bed and waves at Charlie with his gun. “Sit down, mouse.”
“You know, when I see Jacobs, I’m going to shoot him for calling me that,” she says, and at her side, EJ giggles. Completely inappropriate for the time and situation but—there it is. Her girl is laughing, and Lews is glaring at them and the two random boys they picked up in a bar.
She has a moment to feel sorry for them, before Lews slaps her, hard. Miles takes a step forward, furious.
Charlie shakes her head, a single quick motion and Lews smiles. “Jason, take care of those two, would you? Boss didn’t say anything about them.”
“What were the orders?” EJ asks.
Jason is herding Miles and EJ’s pet into a corner, and Charlie can’t decide who looks more furious, Miles or—what the hell is his name?
“They changed, since Marco died. Did you know he was dead?”
EJ flinches, and sways at her side. “No,” she whispers.
“Boss is pretty pissed. He wants your girl’s head. And he wants you home—but he didn’t say anything about the condition he wanted you in.”
Jason laughs, a sick noise that is all she can hear as rage washes through her.
Charlie has a heartbeat before Lews lunges, a heartbeat to knock EJ aside and swing up with her fists. And then Jason is on her.
*
She scrambles for the bag Charlie left on the bedside table. It’s small and compact, with a few condoms and a toy in it. And the gun, the small black gun Charlie snatched up from Marco.
That feels like a lifetime ago.
Lews grabs her ankles, and she can feel him moving over her. Charlie screams, furious, and there’s a sharp crack of skin against skin.
“Shut the fuck up, bitch!” Jason snarls
Her stomach lurches. Lews grunts above her, his big body pinning her as she stretches for the damn bag.
His hand is under her skirt, and fury makes her vision go red for a second and she screams in rage, twisting and bucking against him. Charlie is crying.
Lews grabs her hair and slams her head into the side of the bed.
Stars are spinning in her vision, and she can hear Lews muttering. “Stupid, superior, little whore. Always thought you were better than us. Fucking show you what you’re good for.”
His hands are on her thighs, bruising hard as he pulls them wide, and she can feel the cold air on her cunt. He’s ripped her panties away.
Far away, she can hear Charlie crying. Lews has his dick out now, and his fingers are digging into her, rough and invasive and she comes to life, fighting and screaming.
Something slams into him and she screams as his fingers inside her jerk, painfully hard before he falls off her as Mason crashes into him.
James is standing, shaking and furious, and she’s has a moment of shock, staring at him. Charlie’s toy has yanked Jason off of her, an arm around his neck but already the bastard is fighting him and Lews is starting to rise.
EJ stands and kicks him, her stiletto catching him square in the face. She feels the give of his head, the disgusting crunch of his nose and the snap of her heel as it embeds in his skin. He screams, and it galvanizes Jason, his efforts at getting away turning frantic.
Charlie still hasn’t moved.
EJ grabs the gun and a pillow, and shoves it against Lews face. “The orders didn’t include rape, you piece of shit,” she snarls and then she pulls the trigger.
Even with the pillow to muffle it, the gun is loud and unmistakable and Jason goes still. His eyes are wide as she stalks toward him with another pillow, disbelieving and she shoves the gun against his wet, limp dick, and pulls the trigger. He screams and Miles drops him with an oath, stumbling back as she steps on his throat.
“You fucking piece of shit,” she says. She’s shaking. So angry she can’t even breathe. He’s howling and she lifts the gun, to end him.
“Don’t,” Charlie whispers. She’s still laying on the floor, curled on her side, and it hurts a part of her to see Charlie looking like that. Blood is dark on her skin, and she’s so pale she looks like a ghost.
There are bruises on her again, and that makes EJ’s hands tremble.
“Don’t, Ellie,” Charlie says again and she sits up. Spits out some blood. “Leave him like that.”
“What the fuck?” Miles screams, and EJ looks at him. Blinks. For a moment, she had forgotten they were there. That they had ever picked up two random strangers to begin with. For a single heartbeat, she considers shooting them. Instead she motions with the gun.
“Get out. And don’t fucking call the cops, or I’ll shoot your dick off next.” She says, glaring at Miles. He’s gone almost before she finishes the sentence. James gives her a longer look, searching, and then he’s slipping out the door behind him.
Charlie is sitting on the bed and EJ tosses the gun on the ground. Jason has stopped screaming. She thinks, vaguely, that he’s passed out.
She grabs her purse and pulls Charlie up. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s get you dressed.”
She closes the door to the bedroom behind them, grabs Charlie’s arm. “We have to go,” she murmurs, kicking off her broken shoes.
“Why?” Charlie whispers. She’s crying again, silent tears streaming down her face. EJ shoves their clothes into a bag and grabs Charlie’s hand.
“Come on, baby. Stay with me,” she pleads.
The other girl is crying, silent, shaking sobs that are tearing EJ up, but she’s moving, and that’s the important thing. It take
s her almost five minutes to get Charlie downstairs—taking the staircase to avoid the cameras in the elevators. There’s no way to get out of this clean. She knows that. But the boys will vouch that the shooting was self-defense and maybe by the time the authorities put two and two together, they’ll be gone.
The Nova is in a self-park garage. She keeps her head down and an arm around Charlie’s shoulders as they walk through the empty lot.
When she tucks Charlie into the backseat with a blanket to cover her, and slides behind the wheel, it feels like coming home. And wrong.
So fucking wrong.
EJ shoves the thought aside and pulls out of the parking garage, and points them to the west. She knows they’ll need to stop, soon. But she wants out of New Mexico and the dead bodies she just left in that damn hotel room. She wants away from the men Jacobs sent after her that would do this.
Her stomach lurches and she gags. Scrambles for a bag. She barely makes it, before she throws up, so hard her eyes water and the car slows, swerving a little as she tries to drive while she’s falling apart.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It’s a game. A fucking game that should never be this real. She can feel Lews on her, his hot breath against her skin, his fingers digging into her and she wants to scream. Her stomach lurches again, but she forces it down.
Rolls down the window and tosses the bag out as she hits the highway.
Jacobs answers on the first ring. “Ellie.”
“You sent Lews after me,” she says. And then, furiously, “You sent fucking Lews after me.”
“Tell me you didn’t shoot him like you did Marco,” he says, tired. “You forced my hand—killing Marco couldn’t go unpunished.”
“So you sent your mad dog to rape me?” she snarls her voice shaking.
There’s a long moment of silence and then, very coldly, “What?”
“Jason raped Charlie. And Lews was—” she chokes, and takes a breath. Forces it out, “He had his hands on me. Inside me. Was that in your fucking plans, when you sent him to bring me home?”
Fatal Beauty Page 14
